


The Undone & The Divine

by sportyspice



Series: Bedroom Hymns [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And Karen's blood has...special qualities, Blood Drinking, ChoirBoy!Matt, F/M, Matt is just a horny bastard, Religious Conflict, Smut, True Blood elements, Vampire!Karen, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sportyspice/pseuds/sportyspice
Summary: All is not what it seems when Karen Page meets a church organist with a secret identity. She has a dark secret of her own...and it's going to take all of her willpower to resist him for the greater good.(Karedevil Vampire AU!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_gowns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_gowns/gifts).



> Dedicated to Mia, who is an angel. This story is her brain child, all credit goes to her.
> 
> Original post: fyeahkaredevil.tumblr.com/post/142698050974/i-respect-the-actors-personal-lives-but-holy

When she finds him, he is half dead. Sprawled out in the dumpster, his leg is bent in a uncomfortable position. Blood seeps out of the deep wound in his side creating a small pool beneath him. _And to think she convinced herself that tonight would be low-key…_

With every second, the stranger gets closer to the brink of death. A wheeze escapes his lips and Karen enters panic mode. The possibilities are endless, but she ponders three.

1) She could give into her temptation and drain him (it wouldn’t hurt, he’s half dead anyway- not that that would matter, she’s the hunter not the prey)  
2) She could take him to the hospital.  
3) Or take matters into her own hands and save his life herself.

Karen lifts the flimsy excuse for a mask that covers the top half of his face. Fantastic. She doesn’t know him. Draining him would be even easier. But what if he has someone waiting up for him at home? What if he has kids?

“Christ.” She falls victim to her emotions once again and raises her left wrist to her lips. Two ivory fangs escape her gums with a faint click. She winces as they pierce her pale skin leaving two tiny parallel punctures, drops of blood escaping her veins as she positions her arm over his slightly open mouth, her fangs retracting.

“Drink.” She demands. The stranger grunts in defiance. Karen moves her arm closer.

“You have to, or you’ll die. Please. I really don’t need this on my plate.” He gives in and latches onto her limb slurping on the precious elixir. She watches him with wide blue eyes drinking in the details of the strange man before her.

Knowing that her blood alone could erase all his afflictions sends shivers through her. The sensitivity to her surroundings, the rapid healing and magical blood are all still brand new to her even though it’s been a little over a year since she was turned.

He pulls away from her skin and gasps for air with his newly repaired lungs.

“Better?” She asks. The stranger nods.

Her eyes bore into his as she commands, “Tell me your name.”

“I don’t have one.” His voice isn’t as dull as the others she has glamoured, but she pays no mind.

“Everyone has a name.”

He sits up against the wall, surprised that he can move again.

“I’m not everyone.”

“So _Mr. I-Don’t Have-A-Name_ , what have you gotten yourself into tonight?”

“What _haven’t_ I gotten into?”

  
She breathes in through her nostrils, and is enveloped with the sweet smell of blood. Her fangs escape her gums with a click for the second time, and a hand files over her mouth. Shit. She’s starved. It’s been so long since she’s fed on a human. The synthetic shit that’s peddled isn’t the same. _It isn’t enough._

She twists her hair into a bun as the predator in her comes back to life and takes control. He is absolutely perfect. The perfect mix of fear and confidence. And the smell of him! With every second controlling her impulses gets more and more difficult.

“You would like for me to have a taste of that delicious blood that runs through your veins.” It comes out as a plea more than a demand. Another thing she has yet to master.

“No I don’t.” he replies. Karen’s features scrunch in confusion. Why is he so resistant to her hypnosis? Then it hits her as she looks into his dull, dark eyes in the streetlight. He’s blind.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you.”

 _Them_. One single word has never hit her so hard.

“I’m one of what?” She knows his answer, but she wants to hear him say it.

“Vampire.”

They sit in silence studying each other. He listens as she swallows. Her stance changes quickly like she is about to pounce, but instead she reaches out and caresses his bruised cheek.

“This’ll clear up soon enough. G’nite.” The clicking of her heels against the hard ground echo through the alley as she walks away.

* * *

 

His hands struggle to keep hold of her hips as she straddles him. Her hips rock in rhythm, the pastel pink cotton of her panties rubbing against his boxer covered thigh. She throws her head back as a climax creeps up.

She’s teasing. He expressed his ache to be inside her, but she refused, peeling his clothes off until he was half naked and began to dry hump his thigh. Two can play this game.

“Matt - Oh God…” His thumb circles her clit through the fabric and her hand flies below her to his hair, tugging on the dark strands. Her body shakes violently, eager for release.

Karen’s world slows as she comes undone, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth. Matt cranes his neck up and places a kiss in the hallow of her collarbone, then almost whispers, “Good?”

She smirks. “Euphoric. How can I return the pleasure, Mr. Murdock?”

He can think of plenty of ways, but he lets her decide. She climbs off of him and slides down to the bottom of the bed, her hands in between his legs.

“I want you inside me.” He cries out as she finally pulls the boxers down his legs, the elastic creating friction against him.

“And look! You’re already hard. Just for me.” Matt’s eyes snap shut as her tongue darts out and licks a stripe up the underside of his erection…

He wakes up in a cold sweat. The alarm rings unbearably loud in his eardrum as he runs a hand over his forehead.

Guilt clouds his thoughts. Did he really have a sex dream about a girl whose name he didn’t even get? To make it worse, it’s a Sunday. The holiest day of the week.

* * *

 

Karen highlights and deletes the paragraph for the third time. She gives it another try, nimble fingers moving across the keyboard with skill.

_Mr. Cafferty has funded several counts of corruption among the council, which has lead to further acts of violence - by his order - by the cronies that he pays off. But how were we to know that the man with the dirty blonde hair and bright smile would bring such nuisance to this city? What compels us to place our futures into the hands of someone just because we admire their beauty -_

She deletes for the fourth time. _Damnit_.

The bright white of the blank page is menacing, taunting even as it stares back at her. Grabbing her bag and coat, she walks out of the room, leaving the computer on. (Fuck them. The electric bill isn’t her problem.)

“Ms. Page!” Karen turns around. It’s Rachel, an intern.

“Ellison’s looking for you.”

“Why?”

Rachel shrugs in response, and Karen makes her way to her boss’ office.

“Probably because he hasn’t gotten any work from you since Thanksgiving,” Rachel mutters to herself, words dripping with irritation.

“Speak a little louder next time, Rach. I love it when people talk shit about me.”

Rachel’s eyes widen. “How’d you hear that?”

“I hear everything.” Karen sets off on her way again, hips swaying left to right, hoping to draw more envy from her subservient.

As soon as she sets foot in Ellison’s office, Karen is met with an unwelcoming glare watching every single movement she makes.

“How’s your day been, boss?”

“Cut the shit. I haven’t gotten a finished article from you in months.”

Karen takes a seat in one of the brown leather chairs and places her bag onto her lap.

“Look. I don’t mean to be condescending, but the assessments you’ve given me are boring. There’s no excitement. I’ve been pulling dirtbag politicians into the light for the last two years! I’m tired of it. Give me something else!”

“You’ve been here for how long - four years?”

“Five, sir.” “Five years and you find it boring already?”  
  
“Already? ”

“Karen, Ben worked here for nearly thirty years. Never said that being a journalist was boring.”

Her eyes roll. “Why do you think that Ben retired?”

“He retired because he has a wife to take care of.”

“He retired because this shit is repetitive. New York is invaded by aliens almost every week, and I haven’t been asked not once to write about it.”

Ellison opens his mouth to retort, but she cuts him off. “I don’t like being cocky, but I’m the best thing you have right now. Benji couldn’t pull it off and Rachel can’t even hold a half melted candle to me, and you know it.”

He rolls his office chair back and digs into the lowest desk drawer. As much as he hates to admit it, Karen is the best employee he has.

The manilla folder he dug out slaps loudly against the wooden desk as he drops them in front of her. Karen eyes the file, struggling to read the note with rushed hand writing on the front.

“What’s this?” She asks.

Ellison leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Take it home and have a look.”

* * *

 

She cheats and takes a peek inside the folder during the cab ride home. She examines the grainy photos carefully, taking in the figure dressed in black fabrics that look easy to tear, easy to cut through. Her eyes travel up the photo to the black cloth that covers the figure’s face.

It can’t be. No.

Her hand flips the file shut and the new post-it that Ellison had stuck on it (with better legibility than the last) reads “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen”.

She gave the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen her blood last night. She saw his face.

* * *

 

To her, the beating of his pulse is much more beautiful than the song the organ emits. She has to fight the urge to jump him right here and take what she so craves, but this is a church. A place to bathe in holiness.

She finds it funny how Catholics devote their lives to a dead man, yet they discriminate against her kind.

Matt’s fingers dance across the keys, pouring his soul into every note. A loud gulp fills his ears. Someone is here. But how? He bolted the door. Shit. He continues playing, partly out of fear, partly because he wants to finish the song he’s been working on for the last four minutes.

The song ceases, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence.

“How did those bruises heal?” She speaks up.

“What bruises?”

“You took quite the beating, and were half dead when I found you. I saved your life last night. Remember?”

“I was home all last night, Ma’am.” She admires his manners.

“We both know that’s a lie.” Within seconds, she is at his side, her index poking his chest. “I saw your face. I’m a long list of things, but delusional isn’t one.”

Matt shifts uncomfortably. “What do you want? Blood? Here.” He turns his head so that the side of his neck is on full display. Karen licks her lips as she sees the movement of his pulse. But no. Right now is not the time for temptation. She’s here for answers, all for the sake of journalism.

“So now, you remember.”

“What do you want from me?” He asks again, confidence kicking in.

“I _want_ to know why the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen plays an organ and conducts a choir on Sundays.”

“And I want to know how you knew where to find me.” “I’ll answer yours if you answer mine.”

“I’m Catholic…and I like music.” Karen lets out a giggle. His face contorts as to say “What’s so funny?”

She didn’t mean for it to come out, it just sounds ridiculous that an infamous vigilante spends his Sundays pouring his soul into an organ.

“I’m sorry. It was beautiful Matthew, by the way. You have a God given talent.” She speaks out.

“How’d you - “

“Your name is in the program. Matthew Murdock. Has a nice ring to it.”

Matt stands from his bench and begins to gather the song books that lay on the floor into a neat pile. Karen follows as he (gracefully) walks across the stage and picks up other copies that attendants have left on their seats.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” He states as he places the books onto a bookshelf.

“My blood is inside you. I’ll always know where you are when you’re scared or in danger.”

“Why would I be afraid in church?”

“You’re scared of something. No doubt. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have known where you were. Also I should let you know…”

She blushes. He feels the heat radiate from her cheeks and hears her heartbeat speed up. “What?”

“You’ll feel…compelled to me. Sexually.”

Matt dips his head low.

“You had a…dream about me, didn’t you?” She asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

“No.”

“You’re lying again. I can tell.”

“You know, people don’t take too kindly to your nature here. Especially when you come to a house of God and accuse them of having sex dreams.” Matt snaps.

“What about you? How do you feel about my nature? ‘Bet you didn’t mind my nature when I was getting you off last night.”

“You should leave.”

“Fine. Sweet dreams, Matty.”

Without another word, she grabs her coat and leaves, slamming the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt has mixed emotions, Karen decides to make her involvement with Matt beneficial, (to her anyways) and Foggy gives Matt some (useless) advice.

The next week, Karen musters up enough courage to attend a service. She takes a seat in the back next to a young couple (who are to quick to introduce themselves as Nick and Marissa and their daughter Ophelia).

“Our names are in alphabetical order! Isn’t that swell?” Marissa beams. Karen nods, slightly irritated. Marissa hasn’t shut her mouth since she sat down.

Marissa calls out as she spots Matt walking between the benches, greeting everyone. “Matthew! Over here!” He follows the voice.

Karen slumps down in her seat, hoping that he won’t notice her.

“We were wondering when Sunday school will start up again. Our Ophelia just cannot wait to be enrolled.”

“I’ll ask Father. I’m sure he knows.”

Karen watches him as he talks. There’s just something about him that she can’t quite put her finger on.

He has recovered completely. The purple tent of the bruises have completely faded, and his leg is completely healed, as she knew it would be, but something about it is just…amazing.

“Have you met Karen? This is her first mass with us,” Marissa says and Karen’s fists clench. _Won’t she just shut up?_

Matt’s head cocks to the side slightly and his brows furrow. The scent, the steady sound of her heartbeat…It’s her. But Karen? What kind of vampire would be named Karen? It’s too boring.

“How do you do, Matty?” Karen asks.

“Just fine, _Karebear_.”

“How have you been sleeping? Good dreams?”

“They’re just swell,” He asserts as his fists ball.

“Glad to hear.”

“So you two _do_ know each other,” Marissa interrupts.

“We’re good friends. Aren’t we, Matty?”

He nods yes. This is not the time nor place for an argument.

“Enjoy the sermon, everyone. Father put hard work into it.” He walks off.

* * *

 

Karen waits behind after the service, remaining in her seat with one long leg crossed over the other.

She has his routine down. After the service, Matt tidies up idle Bibles along with song books that were left on seats, puts donations into the safe inside the main office, along with whatever odd job needs to be done.

“You should be getting home, Karen. I’m about to lock up,” He says, a hand shoved in his pocket fumbling with the piece of tissue he always keeps there.

“Aw, shucks. I liked watching you run around putting things away.” It wasn’t a complete lie, she quite admires his physique.

(For an organist, he had quite the physique, but that wasn’t all that he was. His “nightly activities” created that build.)

He pushes his red tinted glasses up the bridge of his nose. “C’mon. We’ve got to leave.”

She stands with a pout and grabs her bag, slinging the long strap across her shoulder.

They exit the church together and Karen watches as he locks the door _with too much precision for a man who cannot see._ “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions,” She states. His brows furrow in irritation.

“Look. If it’s about the other night, I’m not gonna talk about it.”

“It’s about that… but not really. I wanted to ask you about what you do in general.”

“Why are you so interested in me? I’m nobody.”

“That’s the point. You think you’re an average Joe, but you _aren’t_! Look.” She regrets her choice of words. (How disrespectful. You told a blind man to look. Good job Karen!)

Karen digs into her bag and pulls out the manilla folder Ellison had given to her a few days prior, and places it into Matt’s palm.

“What is this?” He asks, running his fingers over the object to decipher what it is.

“The folder I just gave you is full of bits and bobs on the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Witness reports, pictures from surveillance videos… a whole bunch of things.”

“Why do you have this?” He lowers his voice and moves closer to her, so only she can hear, “Have you been researching me?”

“I’m a journalist.” Matt chuckles at her confession. A vampire/journalist? The thought rolling around his head is ridiculous.

”I know it sounds silly, but I have to keep the lights on, okay?” Karen continues. “You’re the hot commodity on the market right now. My boss wants me to write an article about you, and what could be better than getting intel from the man himself?”

Matt hands her the folder back and starts to walk away. “Absolutely not.”

Karen speed walks and catches up to him. “C’mon. I saved your life! You owe me one.”

He scoffs. “I didn’t ask you to save me. You should’ve just let me die.”

“You didn’t object, either. Latched onto my arm like a leech,” She retorts, getting more and more irritated with every word he says.

Matt is conflicted. She did help him in a time of dire need, but then again, she would keep coming back for more if he gives her a piece of thread. (Not that he would mind, anyway, the sound of her voice is enough to make his heart rate quicken, and the dream didn’t help one bit.)

He makes his mind up, and says, “Okay. I help you, and you leave me alone from the day on that it’s published.”

Karen smiles. “Deal.”

* * *

 

After a twenty minute cab ride, they arrive at Matt’s apartment. When he opens the door for her, Karen is engulfed in darkness.

“Light switch is on the wall around the corner,” He tells her, but she walks right past it as the bright light from the billboard outside the window catches her eye. She walks over slowly, in awe of how beautiful the room looks illuminated by the dark purple hue.

Matt hangs his cane by the strap on the coat rack and joins Karen in the living room. “D’you want a drink? I’ve got a fresh case of beer…”

She shakes her head. “I don’t drink.”

“Oh. I’ve got juice and water…if you want those.”

“No. I don’t drink _like regular people do._ ” She sees his face fall. “You wouldn’t have any blood, would you?”

“Not - not in a bottle.” He closes the fridge and walks over to her, loosening his tie and collar. Gesturing to his neck he stutters, “You could — if your hungry - I wouldn’t mind.”

Licking her lips, she eyes his pulse stirring under his skin. Her mind screams yes, her sentiment say different. “No, Matthew, I-“

“Call me Matt.”

“Matt, I couldn’t,” She continues.

He steps closer. “Look. I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. I was being a dick, and there’s no excuse for it. I appreciate what you did for me; you could’ve kept walking and let me die, but you didn’t. You were right about what you said earlier: I do owe you. I owe you my life. So the least I can do is offer you some food…a drink, or whatever you wanna call it.”

Her mind shouts again. This is exactly what she wants; what she needs. She inches closer. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You saw me the other night, I can handle pain. I don’t mind.” Matt tells himself that his offering is reimbursement for what she did, but he wants to be closer to her. He wants to figure her out, feel her touch…

Tentatively, she inches closer to him and grips his shoulders. Her fangs escape her gums, and he winces, preparing himself for the discomfort. She leans in, situating herself in the crook of his neck.

“Are you sure?” She breathes.

“Go ahead,” He responds, and she dives in, slurping on what she’s been without for the longest. Matt sucks in a breath when he feels her fangs pierce his skin. The pain isn’t unbearable at the very least. The feeling isn’t quite pain, it’s more of a sting. A sting he could get used to.

Karen looses herself in the sweet nectar. Time fades away, the bustle of the city mutes. All that she can focus on is the warm feel of _him_ on her tongue. It’s intoxicating. He taps at her elbow lightly, and she takes it as a sign to stop.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that much,” She asserts. He gives her a nod to tell her that it’s okay. He wants to express it orally, but his voice would be much to weak. That’s how she makes him feel. Weak; and it’s something he likes. He wants her to take whatever she needs from him. Despite his harsh words to her, he yearns for her to do _something_. Make his skin feel it’s on fire when she rakes her fingers across his skin, for her to whisper sweet nothings in his ear…

“Here.” Her words cut into his thoughts.

“What?”

“Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.” She raises her hand to her mouth and punctures her index on one of her sharp fangs.

“What are you doing?” He hears her skin break and panics. _What the hell is going on?_

Instead of responding, she inches closer to him and rubs the droplets of blood that have escaped her finger into the bite marks on his neck.

“This’ll make the marks go away.”

“…Thanks.”

They sit in an awkward silence, Karen looking into his eyes searching for some kind of answer to the many questions she has about him, and Matt studying her heartbeat, her breathing, the smell of her perfume… Taking in everything that is her. The sinful and the immaculate.

Karen moves away and retrieves the folder from the couch. “Let’s get to it, yeah?”

* * *

 

The next morning, Karen wakes up in a bed that is much too soft wrapped in sheets too smooth to be hers. She opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling above her, tracing the splits in the paint.

Her thoughts shift to Matt, who had agreed to take the couch last night. (“Take the bed, I’ll be fine on the couch,” He had told her, and she accepted.) There is no way he could be comfortable on the couch being to used to the bed.

Reluctantly, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and raises her arms up to stretch. The smell of fresh coffee fills her senses. There was a time a cup of coffee was required to start her day with, but now, the scent no longer makes her stomach flutter, it was just a smell like any other.

“Karen? You up?” She walks towards his voice and finds him leaning against his kitchen counter shirtless (he has much too many scars) and a steaming cup of fresh brew in his hand.

“Hey.”

“I thought you’d never get up. It’s almost noon.”

“Sorry. Your bed was really comfy. Too comfy.”

“I get that sometimes.”

What could he mean by that? Do a lot of girls end up spending the night, especially in his bed? She opens her mouth to question him, but purses her lips. _It's none of your business, Karen._

He gestures to the coffee pot, “I would offer you some but… You can’t drink coffee can you?”

She nods left to right. No.

* * *

 

Foggy Nelson despises messes. Having to deal with someone else’s mess, is something he hates as much as paying more taxes than some dickhead who’s net worth is twenty times larger than his.

With Matt being his best friend for the last ten plus years, he forces himself to listen to the predicament that Matt has gotten himself into.

“You need to slow down!” Foggy tries to reason.

“I don’t think I can, Fog. She’s in the NEXT ROOM! I CAN’T ESCAPE HER!”

“Well, the first thing you could do is lower your voice so she can’t hear about your…situation.”

Matt takes a deep breath and wipes at his damp brow. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Just go back in there and ask her. She might say yes.”

“What would I say? ‘When you accidentally touched my arm earlier, you gave me a hard-on, and would you like to help me take care of it’?”

“Isn’t that how you got started with that girl you dated in college?” Matt scoffs in reply.

“But if you’re gonna ask, not in those exact words, Matt. Play it cool, man… Or you could go back to sleep; maybe you’ll get what you want in those dreams of yours.”

”Matt? You okay?” Karen asks through the door. “I heard yelling.”

Matt covers the microphone at the bottom of his phone and replies, “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be out in just a second.”

She doesn’t reply. The sound of her footsteps are enough of an answer.

He raises the phone to his ear again. “I’ll call you back later, ok?”

When he makes his way back to the living room, Karen is deep into the notes she took during their conversation the night before. Without looking up from the papers she says, “I’m not screwing you, Matt. I like to be romanced first, and you have not been affectionate in the slightest.”

His mouth falls open. “Y-You heard w-what I said?”

She taps her right ear. “Came with the ‘vampire abilities’ package.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - I’m very respectful of women, I didn’t mean — “

“There’s nothing wrong with what you said, I just didn’t expect that from the guy who’s a devoted member of the ‘Christ is the ultimate superhero’ fan club.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

All her life, Karen was never very religious. God was never someone she had a deep connection with.

“I hate to break it to you, but he’s not saving anyone.” She crams the notes into a folder.

“How are you so sure? God has helped me all my life.”

“He has? Taking you father from you when you were a kid was helping? Getting your ass handed to you the other night was him helping? God is _dead_ , Matt.”

“So are you, Karen.”

That stung.

She stands, and begins to angrily shove her things into her bag. “And to think I actually considered helping you with your boner.”

Matt raises his hands in exasperation. “You’re just gonna run again?”

Karen puts her things down and approaches him, her index poking his chest. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

“You did the exact same thing last week. I made you uncomfortable, and you left. Karen, Do you always run from a fight?”

She applies more pressure to her finger so that her nail is stabbing into his flesh. “Fuck you. I didn’t run away the night I found you. I stayed. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t even be here to insult me.”

Clouded by anger and lust, Matt does the one thing his conscious tells him not to do: he leans forward and presses his lips against hers.


End file.
